


Sweet and Sour

by Hoodoo



Series: Detoxified and Toxic Ricks [2]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Detox Rick is a Dear, Detox Rick will move the world for you, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Physical Abuse, Short & Mean, Short & Sweet, Toxic Rick is Abusive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 19:06:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13196619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: Two short drabbles continuing to explore a relationship with Detoxified Rick versus Toxic Rick. (Chapter 2 is not recommended if abuse is problematic or triggers you.)





	1. Detoxified Rick

**Author's Note:**

> Writing these two opposites is a surprisingly cathartic experience.
> 
> Background song recommendation for Chapter 1: "Moondance", sung by Michael Bublé.  
> Background song recommendation for Chapter 2: "Head Like A Hole", by Nine Inch Nails.

“Rick—what are you doing? Where are we going?”

The blindfold he’d tied around your eyes, while soft, obscured any vision at all. You couldn’t even determine if the light was on.

“Just trust me, okay? Now there’s stairs here, so step up here, and here—“

Guided by the sound of his voice and his hands on your waist while he was behind you, you obey. You have no clue where you are; he’d produced the silk scarf before you got into his vehicle and you’d ridden blind.

After too many stairs to count, you apparently reach the top of wherever. Rick tells you to stop and stand in place, then leaves your side. It feels awkward to be standing without idea of where you are or what may be going on. You can hear him fumbling with something, but the noises—quiet clinkings, an odd metallic twisting—mean nothing to you.

Then there’s silence again.

You sense Rick returning to you before he speaks. You reach for him, and he takes your hands, opening your arms.

“You look gorgeous tonight,” he compliments. “That dress is perfect.”

He’d asked you to wear something nice; you’d chosen an ankle-length, handkerchief hemmed dress with a halter neck. He’d left his lab coat behind, so you didn’t feel too overdressed for whatever this was.

“Okay. It’s almost ready. Here, let me—“ he says, and his hands drop yours to work the knot of the blindfold. It comes apart quickly, and you blink as it’s dropped from your face.

“Oh my god—“ you gasp, taking on the surroundings.

You’re in a domed room. A planetarium. You’re on a platform on a catwalk, but the place is so large you’re nowhere near the ceiling. Stars litter the inside of the roof, some in constellations you’re familiar with and others you’re not. You’re high enough to get vertigo if you look down, but Rick doesn’t give you a chance to think about the height.

“Rick, it’s beautiful—“ you start to say.

“Wait—“ he interrupts. He holds up some device, turns a dial on it, and presses a button.

The stars on the ceiling shimmer and shake, and suddenly burst to real life. The points of light leap off the curved surface and surround you both. It’s not just stars, either: occasionally a comet pulses by, as if you’re the celestial object creating gravity. Nebulas, like spidery webs full of color, float to their own whim. Further away, other galaxies spin in their individual orbits. Deep colors of black and purples and blues swirl around you, filling in the space between the lights.

Rick takes you in his arms, like you’re dancing, and moves you through the galaxy he’s crafted. The mirage shifts with you, offering new sights. You gasp and exclaim at each tiny wonder—a far off supernova is especially impressive—and he smiles indulgently.

“This is unbelievable!” you gush. “I can’t even tell you how incredible this is!”

Rick laughs. “I’m glad you like it. I wanted to do something special.”

“This is beyond special!” you tell him, and pull him down for a sound kiss.

He returns it, then holds you close while he looks around his handiwork. “It is pretty impressive, isn’t it?” he asks, but it’s not haughty or digging for compliments. “I wanted to have you walk through the stars. But my vehicle isn’t a TARDIS and can’t extend its atmosphere to keep you safe, so . . . this was the next best thing I could do.”

You watch him as he explains, backlit by the galaxy. It’s astounding, and amazing, and words can’t describe how blessed you feel standing with him right at this moment.

_fin._


	2. Toxic Rick

“No.”

The one syllable word pulled him up short.

“What?”

“No!”

His confusion didn’t last long.

 _“What did you say to me?”_ he bellowed. Gobs of green mucus rained on your face when he yelled. 

“I said _no,_ Rick! I am not!”

Anger beyond what you’d ever seen before from him blazed forth. Without any warning, he slapped—no, it was a _punch—_ you in the face.

Your head snapped to the side, and inside was all ringing. Dazed, your knees gave out and you swooned. Rick caught your upper arm and hauled you upward to keep you on your feet. Through the pain and buzzing, a warm wetness coated your mouth. It was slightly different than the slime that dripped continuously from Rick, and you dimly realized it was blood streaming from your nostrils.

“Look where your fucking smart mouth has gotten you, bitch!” Rick sneered. “You don’t get to tell me no! Who do you think you _are?_ You do what I say, when I say it!”

Your legs still weren’t working quite right, so he dropped you callously onto the bed. You flounder backward and try to assess the damage to your face with your hands. It hurts too much to determine if your nose was broken or not. You’re crying.

Rick climbed over your body and slapped your hands from your face, ignoring your new wail of pain.

“Look at me!” he demanded.

Your vision is blurry from tears, but you do as he commands. He looks down on you critically, and tells you,

“You see what you made me do? You’re all bloody—there’s blood everywhere, bitch. You're _disgusting._ You did this. You brought this on yourself.”

A sob breaks free from your throat. Your obvious pain and fear don’t affect him.

“Fucking _shit_ you’re sexy,” Rick tells you, in a parody of affection.

With that, like your refusal, his strike, and the whole situation was foreplay, Rick drops his head and kisses you. His oily lips are matched by his oily tongue, still tasting of raw garlic and mold, which forces its way into your mouth. You learn he’s split your upper lip too, from the raw pain that shoots through you from the action.

You want to fight, want to kick, want to claw, but you just can’t. The pain and the dizziness and the overwhelming sense of helplessness prevents you from pushing him off.

Rick leaves off your mouth and you retch; the slime he produces leaves a thin film everywhere, even inside you. He ignores your gagging and stays close to your face, still surveying the damage he’s done.

When he dips forward again, you brace yourself for another kiss, but this time he leisurely licks the blood from your chin. 

“So fucking sexy—“ he mutters, and continues to clean your face, lapping at the gore, even going to far as to stick his tongue into each nostril.

The pain is almost unbearable, but you do your best to keep still and let him do what he wants. This is what you signed up for. You love Rick Sanchez. You’ve told him, and you;ve told yourself. You don’t have the strength to tell him no again, anyway. 

_fin._


End file.
